


The Weight of Tomorrow

by Cytokiine



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends, Fix-It, Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gotta get all this emotional processing done in fic since therapists don't exist on the planet :))), Other, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cytokiine/pseuds/Cytokiine
Summary: The Scions are keeping secrets.It hurts more than the Warrior of Light cares to admit, and as their feelings of estrangement continue to grow alongside their doubts, they find themself confiding in someone they never expected to like with increasing regularity.Emet-Selch. Ascian. An enemy strangely keen to win them over... and the only person willing to answer their questions.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 19
Kudos: 76





	The Weight of Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> I have left the Warrior of Light’s name, gender, and appearance intentionally vague in this story, as I prefer to write a more general WoL instead of my personal character. You are welcome to imagine the WoL however you wish!

Kneeling in the cavern where Slitherbough’s devoted performed their ritual ablutions, the Warrior of Light brought another cupped handful of blessed water to their face. Their palms tingled as if a current of levin had brushed against their skin, raising the fine hairs on the nape of their neck. When they pressed their fingers against their eyelids, the tender skin lit up with a fire that made their vision burst with stars.

It was worse now than it had been the first time, back when they’d only contained the Light of two Wardens. Y’shtola and Urianger kept their silence, unwilling to elaborate on the severity of their corruption, but they were neither deaf nor blind to the subtle changes. Not anymore. Still, what was there to be done? They had their role. No one else could shoulder the burden, though they longed to share it. Despite being surrounded by their comrades, they were alone in this.

The Warrior of Light closed their eyes and let the water splash against their cheeks once more, trying not to flinch.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

His voice broke their reverie. They’d spent long enough in the cavern’s gloom that their eyes were acclimated to the darkness. His slouching form was easy to make out, though they hadn’t heard him arrive. Emet-Selch leaned against the nearest wall, arms crossed as he watched them.

“It clearly causes you discomfort. Why subject yourself to the pain?” he asked, meeting their eyes when they looked up. They held his pale gaze for a moment before looking away with a shrug. Even if they explained it, he wouldn’t be satisfied with their answer.

Emet-Selch’s lips twisted into a mocking smile at their silence.

“Laconic as ever, I see. Still, I am beginning to think you are a glutton for punishment.”

They bowed their head, suppressing a flare of annoyance.

“It didn’t hurt the first time,” they replied as they sat back on their heels.

“And to think they call you the Warrior of Darkness. Poor, misguided fools…”

His tone rankled. Casting him a venomous look, they flicked water in his direction. Emet-Selch merely laughed at this petulant gesture.

“Have I offended you, my dear? Oh, do not look at me so.”

“You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”

Emet-Selch's smirk faded. He favored them with a strange look as he peeled himself away from the wall.

“No, not particularly," he replied. 

“Could have fooled me.”

Emet-Selch’s shoulders straightened for a moment, irritation curling his lip before he raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug and spun on his heel, glancing back at them over his shoulder.

“You mistake me for Lahabrea. I am not so enamoured with my voice that I am compelled to share it with any who would listen. No, I'm far more selective. It is why I came to you alone.”

Emet-Selch certainly had a penchant for drama. But then, this _was_ the same man who’d commissioned an airship as a gift for his favorite theater troupe. The Warrior of Light shook their head as they rose to their feet.

“I’m not here to play games, Emet-Selch. Come find me when you have aught of import to share.”

“Tsk. Your whole life is a game. A cruel, pathetic mockery of living, and you are content to _wallow_ in this broken simulacrum because you don’t know any better. I waste my time with you…” 

With a sigh, he vanished into a rift of darkness, leaving them with a half-formed retort on the tip of their tongue. The Warrior of Light swallowed those unspoken words as they dried their hands on their clothes and swiped at their damp cheeks. 

He would return again when his presence was least desired.

Though night was restored to Rak’tika, their dreams unfurled beneath the oppressive curtain of Light that had once haunted their waking hours. They could almost see the conflagration within themself if they focused hard enough. Like a fever, it burned away the restful shelter of slumber.

The Warrior of Light stirred, draping the back of their hand over their eyelids, but sleep eluded them. Despite the predawn chill, they felt overwarm.

If Y’shtola had mistaken them for a sineater before they'd slain the Lightwarden of Rak'tika, how might they appear now to another with the ability to perceive aether? Emet-Selch loved to talk. Perhaps he would be more forthcoming with his observations… But it was not a conversation to hold in Slitherbough, where whispers carried.

Even at night, the Rak’tika Greatwood was alive with a chorus of frogsong and the high pitched whine of vilekin. They kept their footfalls soft as they navigated the undergrowth, keen to remain unnoticed by nocturnal patrols as they journeyed deeper into the forest. It was only once the canopy swallowed stars and moon alike that they finally raised their voice.

“Emet-Selch, I wish to speak with you.”

Only the sounds of the forest answered their entreaty. After several beats of silence, they wet their lips and called a little louder.

“Emet-Selch, I-”

“I heard you the first time, hero.”

They felt a presence manifest behind them and turned to see Emet-Selch sauntering out of the darkness. He offered them a cocky grin as their eyes met.

“Did you dream of me? Felt compelled to seek me out in the middle of the night? It _is_ the middle of the night, you know. You’d best have a good reason for interrupting my favorite pastime.”

“If you were asleep, you were doing a poor job of it to answer my summons so quickly,” they shot back.

Emet-Selch shrugged, wholly unapologetic. 

“It’s the first time you called for me. I was curious. So? What did you want to speak to me about?”

Perhaps it was the late hour, or perhaps their troubled sleep had lowered their inhibitions, making them more careless with their words. The question they asked sprung from their lips before they could think better of it, their voice tremulous as they looked to him in a moment of unguarded vulnerability.

“How do you see me?”

Emet-Selch froze. His eyes widened first, then quickly narrowed again as he mastered himself.

“What do you mean?” he asked. His tone was light, but there was a rare intensity in his eyes that belied his glib question.

They raised a hand to their chest as they cast about for better words, fingers curling into the fabric unconsciously. How could they phrase it better?

“Y’shtola told me that the Light I have absorbed has corrupted my aether, but she refuses to say more. She and the others are keeping silent about their concerns to spare me the truth, but... It… hurts, not knowing. I thought you would be less delicate about my feelings if I asked you to tell me the damage.” 

Upon hearing their explanation, Emet-Selch crossed his arms and shook his head. A faint smile graced his thin lips.

“Oh, that? Are you worried? Doubting yourself now, hero? Or doubting the good intentions of your bosom friends?”

The hand on their chest dropped back to their side and clenched into a fist as they took a bristling step towards him. Emet-Selch laughed, amused by their sudden anger.

“Just answer the question, Ascian,” they spat.

“Ascian? How cold. After all the words we’ve shared, you push me away… You really are ungrateful.”

The Warrior of Light exhaled sharply, turning away from him. What was the point of this? Why had they thought he would be of any help?

An unexpected touch grounded them as Emet-Selch laid a hand on their shoulder.

“This is most unlike you, my dear. Aren’t you supposed to be the stoic one?”

The kindness in his voice caught them off guard. Unwilling to meet his eyes, they brushed him off. Comfort was not what they sought, least of all from an enemy.

A soft breath passed from Emet-Selch’s lips as he lowered his hand with an indolent gesture.

“Very well. You have come seeking truth, and you shall have it. Look at me.”

Against their better judgement, they looked. However, they weren’t sure what they were supposed to be seeing. He seemed no different, still the same tall man dressed in a heavy, conspicuously Garlean overcoat. They waited for him to elaborate, wondering if he simply wanted their gaze upon him as he explained or if there was something they were meant to pick up on.

“Nothing,” Emet replied, as though reading their thoughts. “This body is nothing but a vessel. A container for my soul that I have shaped into an image I find pleasing. But if you could see me as I truly am… Whole. Unbroken. Perfect… Your vision would be filled by nothing else. And then there is you. What are you?”

Nothing. They read his thoughts as he read theirs. In Emet-Selch’s eyes, mortals were merely fragments of individuals, living– how had he put it? A mockery of life?

“You have potential,” he continued. “With each Calamity, your Mother weakens but you grow stronger– more yourself. What happened to you, what happened to _us_ , is a tragedy. For this wrong to be righted, Hydaelyn’s influence must be excised. 

Her Light grows within you like a parasite, enervating your aether even as it takes on a loathsome life of its own. While your will remains intact, your soul is like glass. Brittle. Given much more, it is liable to crack. Two Wardens remain. Can you truly contain the Light, or will it suffocate all that you are? I wonder…”

They stared at Emet-Selch numbly. Y’shtola had made it sound like a corruption of their aether, not… Twelve forfend… 

“Am I… at my limit?”

“Not yet. I see no fractures.”

Their shoulders sagged. No fractures. A soul could crack? What did that even look like? Just the idea was disturbing. Would it happen? If they were containing the Light rather than dispersing it, would they reach a tipping point?

“Thank you for your honesty,” they mumbled, resolving to set the matter aside for the time being. What good did it do to dwell upon it? Their course was set. If they did not slay the Lightwardens, no one else would.

“You don’t sound grateful. Somehow, I doubt you care much for my honesty,” Emet-Selch remarked.

The Warrior of Light shook their head.

“No, I do… My own comrades keep me in the…”

“Dark? The Dark has ever held truth for those who would seek it.”

“Is that so?”

Emet-Selch shrugged.

“I've spoken nothing but the truth, hero. If you succeed in your gambit, I’ll tell you everything you could wish to know.”

The Warrior of Light’s lips twisted into a humorless smile.

“While I appreciate your candor, I’m not interested in becoming friends with someone whose respect for me is conditional.” 

"You say that now, but it seems to me that the respect your friends have shown you is rather conditional as well. Isn’t that precisely why you called upon me?” 

They wanted to refute him, but his question made them hesitate a second too long. Emet-Selch smirked at their silence.

"That's what I thought. But the night grows old, and I would fain return to my slumber before dawn breaks. Do entreat me at a more reasonable hour next time, won’t you?”

With that, he gave a lackadaisical shake of his wrist and sauntered back into the darkness.

The Warrior of Light rubbed their aching eyes. They hadn't slept well since coming to the First, but since slaying Lightwarden Eros, their rest was even more fitful. If only they could fall asleep as easily as Emet-Selch… 

With great reluctance, they crept back through the forest to their bed and wrapped themself up in blankets that had long since grown cold. Gods willing, no other dreams would haunt their sleep until morning.

_You’ve absorbed its aether, Warrior. And the Light within you has grown monstrous._

Monstrous.

Though Ryne merely sought to describe the scope of their corruption, her words evoked a vivid reminder of what happened to those who succumbed to the Light. Their minds broke and their bodies twisted into alabaster abominations that preyed upon others in turn. Sineaters were naught but the hollow shells of men, driven only by hunger to reclaim the vital aether they’d once possessed. Monsters.

One Lightwarden remained, but they could no longer ignore the danger, for after Storge had fallen… 

The Warrior of Light raised a hand to their chest, pressing hard against their breastbone as they recalled how it felt when the Warden’s Light poured into them. That swell of foreign aether strained against the very boundaries of their being until, at last, something inside them _broke_. A sharp, crystalline pain took their breath away. It hurt like nothing they’d ever felt before.

It frightened them.

They downplayed their discomfort through the return journey so as not to worry Ryne, who felt responsible for easing the strain of the Light within them in her newfound role as a fully fledged Oracle. It was a relief to finally let that mask slip in the privacy of their apartment. They had just resolved to turn away all visitors who might knock on their door that evening when a flicker of movement caught their eye. The Warrior of Light glanced up, only relaxing when they recognized their spectral guest. 

“You seem troubled,” Ardbert said.

“What gave me away?” they asked insipidly as they set a kettle on the stove.

“The way you carry yourself. It’s like you’re nursing a wound.”

The Warrior of Light lowered their gaze to the kettle, watching with meditative detachment as wisps of steam began to rise from the spout. Instead of replying, they asked another question.

“Did you see what happened at Malikah’s Well?”

“I did...”

“I can’t stop thinking about it. How it felt.”

A pained expression flitted across his face as they looked up at him again. In two strides he was at their side, reaching towards them to offer them succor. His expression twisted as he remembered that such gestures were beyond his means the instant before his hand made contact… then his palm brushed against their shoulder, and they felt their aether _incandesce_.

Ardbert pulled away first, eyes wide with disbelief. Only the whistle of the kettle pierced the silence that paralyzed them both.

“Did you just-” Ardbert began, but promptly bit back his words as his eyes darkened with doubt. “No… it can’t be that…”

Before they could respond, there came a knock from the door. Both paused, glancing towards the entry before Ardbert turned away with an awkward expression.

"I'll let you answer that," he said, then phased out of sight, leaving them to deal with their unwanted visitor. And though they'd resolved not to answer their door that evening, in the end, they could not bring themself to so obviously ignore whoever it was. After moving the shrieking kettle to a back burner, they went to open the door. 

The Exarch waited outside, hand raised mid knock. Light from their room spilled out into the hallway, illuminating the half of his face that he deigned to show them. They saw his lips part in surprise before pressing together again bashfully.

"My apologies for calling upon you at so late an hour. I hope I haven't disturbed you," he said. 

The Warrior of Light shook their head. Though it was indeed the case, the Exarch wasn't one to pay social calls without good reason.

"Did you need something from me?" they asked. 

"Ah…"

His head dipped under the weight of his conscience. It seemed that they weren't the only troubled soul in the Crystarium that evening.

"I came to inquire about your wellbeing. Y’shtola informed me that Lightwarden Eros caused you some hardship," he explained. 

"And if it did?" 

Perhaps their tone was a little sharp. The Exarch leaned on his staff, grimacing. 

"It brings me no pleasure to see you suffer on our account, yet I cannot help but continue to ask this and more of you. But know that while I cannot explain my methods, I don’t expect you to shoulder this burden alone. I won't allow your journey to end here… so indulge an old man once more and promise me this– live. Whatever may come to pass, you _must_ survive." 

All that could be said was irrelevant. Even if their faith was frail, even if doubt consumed the trust they wished they could place in the Exarch, they wouldn't turn away from their duty in these final days. It was just their nature to defy fate, fighting against improbable odds with every onze of strength in their battered body. And despite the cost of victory, they'd always succeeded. 

"I never intended to fail," they replied at length.

The Exarch went quiet for a moment before his lips hooked into a gentle smile.

"... I doubt not that you will prevail, and full glad will I be to witness your triumph. Sleep well, my friend, until we speak again on the morrow." 

Sweeping them a courteous bow, the Exarch departed. The Warrior of Light waited until he was out of sight before closing the door to their suite and wandering back to the stove. The water had cooled, but they did not have the patience to boil it again, so they settled for brewing a weak cup of tea. They sipped it idly as they gazed out upon Lakeland through their open window. 

The Exarch lied as a kindness, but it was plain he built his plans around their failure, not their success. They believed he meant for them to survive– his plea was an earnest one –it was just that they could not fully place their trust in someone who refused to confide in them. But there was another who'd ever spoken his mind with little regard for whether his commentary was welcome…

"Emet-Selch..."

They murmured his name into the night, wondering if he would hear it or if their invocation was too quiet to reach his ears. Actually, it was silly to think he was even listening. Though his strength bordered on the divine, he was no god and they were no devotee. Making a face, they shuttered their window and downed the remainder of their tea in a single gulp.

When they turned around, Emet-Selch was lying on their bed. 

They nearly dropped their cup. 

"You called, hero?"

The beds in the Pendants were large, made to accommodate the bulky frames of Galdjent and Ronso, yet he managed to sprawl in such a way that every ilm of its surface seemed occupied. He blinked up at them languidly, looking as though he'd just awoken from a nap. 

"You're as tame as my chocobo to come when I call for you with nary a delay," they remarked once they’d recovered from their surprise.

Emet-Selch arched an eyebrow. 

"I generously answered your wistful summons and this is the thanks I get? Tsk… It would seem gratitude is another quality that has diminished with your mortal condition.” 

They bit back another quip as they remembered that it wasn't their intent to antagonize him. It was just… something about talking to him always roused conflicted feelings. They couldn't decide if they wanted his company or if they wanted him to shut up. Tonight, ostensibly, they wanted the first, but… gods, he was insufferable… 

"I felled the Lightwarden of Ahm Araeng,” they said. 

Emet-Selch clapped for them, looking thoroughly disinterested.

"Bravo, Warrior… you certainly have a knack for killing things."

"I didn't call you here to congratulate me." 

"No? Then I suppose you have questions for me. Hurry up and ask them before I drift off." 

"Not reclining on my bed while you talk to me might help you stay awake longer."

Emet-Selch smirked up at them. It was an expression that inspired violence. Their weariness fled all at once as impulse bid them haul him up by the ruff of his stupid coat and–

They shook their head as their thoughts veered in a strange direction. Perhaps their soul wasn't the only thing beginning to fracture under the stress…

"Well if you're just going to stand there making faces at me, I'm going back to sleep," said Emet-Selch. Raising a hand, he snapped his fingers and the thin pillow beneath his head was replaced by a luxurious cushion. He made a satisfied sound as he closed his eyes, however, he'd forgotten one detail.

"At least materialize some blankets if you're going to pretend to doze off."

"Ask what's on your mind or come lie down with me. The shadows beneath your eyes have grown quite prominent."

It was an odd thing to remark upon. If they didn't know better, they would mistake his words for concern. But why would Emet-Selch concern himself with their health or happiness?

"I didn't realize you cared," they replied defensively, turning away to set their empty cup down on the dining table. Emet-Selch's voice trailed after them.

"Of course I care. This is all a test, hero. The others see you as an obstacle, but I have let myself hope that we might become allies instead. You need only prove yourself to me…" 

Their spine stiffened at his words. It eluded them why he thought he could court their cooperation when his ultimate goal threatened the lives of everyone they knew and loved. Yet even as they rejected his overtures, a part of them could not bear to disappoint him either. They wanted to prove themself to Emet-Selch and see a measure of his scorn turn to respect, but circumstances being what they were… 

"I'm not sure I'll survive this." 

Grief and fear bubbled up from their chest, catching in their throat as they gave voice to that which they were unwilling to say to their friends. By saying it to Emet-Selch, by exposing the doubt that ate away at their courage, they gave him a reason to leave. If he left now, it was a disappointment they could bear.

"Why so grim? Did something change after you slew Lightwarden Storge?" he asked.

The Warrior of Light turned to face him again, nodding.

"See for yourself." 

There was a pause as Emet-Selch looked them over, and though his gaze remained steady, the corners of his mouth curled with distaste. No longer feigning somnolence, he sat up to deliver his verdict.

"I don't enjoy beholding the tattered remains of mortal souls at the best of times, but the state of yours is quite disturbing. You're right to worry." 

The Warrior of Light exhaled. It was as they feared.

"There are cracks now, aren't there? I felt something break after the Light entered me."

"There are cracks," Emet-Selch confirmed, tracing over the invisible fractures with his eyes until he could no longer conceal his growing disgust and finally looked away. His shoulders settled back into their usual slouch as he leaned over his knees. 

"Knowing this, do you intend to press on?" he asked at length.

"Of course," they replied faintly. "Although I'm afraid, no one else can do this. It has to be me." 

Emet-Selch looked up again, his lips twisting into a sneer.

"Oh, it has to be _you_ , does it? This world teetered on the brink of destruction for one hundred years before you arrived, but _your_ sacrifice is the only means by which it may be saved? Did you even stop to question if there might be a less reckless method?" 

"If you know of one, I'm open to hearing it." 

His pale eyes pierced them through as he slowly rose from the bed and stalked over to them. They tensed as he approached. Though they'd assumed he would be angry when they failed to live up to his expectations, he seemed to be taking it far more personally than they had anticipated. Would he try to dispose of them now that he no longer considered them a potential ally?

Instinct made them reach for their weapon. Emet-Selch stopped in place, looking as though he'd swallowed something bitter. 

"Fear not. I haven't given up on you yet, though I shall temper my hope," he assured them coldly.

The Warrior of Light frowned and lowered their hand, though not their guard. 

"I never asked you to place your faith in me. I'm not the hero of _your_ story, so why hope at all?" 

"Why indeed?" Emet-Selch murmured. He took a moment to school his features into a more neutral affect before continuing. "I ask myself the same question, but I will reserve my judgment until the end, however it ends."

It seemed he could not be persuaded to leave. Their shoulders slumped as relief swept through them. How unexpected… Perhaps they already considered him more of a friend than an enemy despite their reluctance to call him such? They tried not to dwell on just what that meant.

"May I ask a favor of you, Emet-Selch?" 

He tilted his head. Though his voice dripped with condescension, he was unable to hide the curiosity in his eyes.

"I am not in the habit of granting favors, but I'll certainly entertain your question. What would you have of me?" 

"My friends have made plans of their own should I… falter, but it would ease my mind to have another contingency in place. If all else fails, would you strike me down before I turn?" 

The curiosity in Emet-Selch's eyes died. He bared his teeth in a contemptuous scowl as he closed the remaining distance between them, grabbing their chin and forcing it up so they could not look away.

"Long did I await one who might brave the path of lesser tragedy. A resilient soul able to endure the necessary pain. I dared to hope that my wait was over, yet the hero of the hour stands before me and begs for a merciful death. What to do?" 

He turned their chin from side to side as he questioned them. Though he did not shout, every word simmered with resentment. The Warrior of Light tried to pull his hand away, but they failed to loosen his grip. Instead, Emet-Selch grabbed their wrist with his other hand.

"Perhaps you should swallow your shame and beg me for something even more indulgent, hm? Since you're not above seeking death, why not plead for your own salvation? Ask me, hero. Ask me to save you. I want to hear you _pray_ for my intervention."

It was more than they could stand. The Warrior of Light yanked their wrist out of his grasp and forcibly shoved him away. 

"I don't want you to save me!" they spat as pride rekindled their old stubbornness. "Forget I asked and get lost!" 

As they stalked past him, they heard him chuckle.

"Yes… this attitude is much more fitting."

"Piss off!"

They refused to spare him another look as they flopped down on their bed and rolled onto their side to face the wall. Starved of engagement, they assumed he would grow bored and take his leave of them with a sarcastic parting comment, as was his wont. Instead, they felt him approach. A gloved hand brushed against their cheek as he leaned over them.

"Don't let fear guide you, for it heralds ruin. Remember who you are… and prove me wrong." 

They stiffened at that gentle touch, but his words were what undid them. Rolling over to face him again, their searching gaze only met with his retreating back as he summoned an aetherial rift and walked into it. Bastard! How could he- how could he say something like that unprompted and then just leave? 

"Wait!" they cried, but Emet-Selch only offered them a lazy wave before the rift closed around him.

He was so frustrating… 

Not that it would be long before he turned up again. They had no doubt he would show up for their meeting in the Ocular the next day. He enjoyed smirking in the wings far too much to ever miss the occasion, pretending all the while that he was doing them a favor by answering their questions instead of transparently indulging his desire for an audience. It was actually those moments they liked best, for listening to Emet-Selch talk about himself revealed a surprisingly human side to his motivations. At least, until his nostalgia for the past turned to contempt for the present, and they were reminded that certain points of view were irreconcilable. 

Still… 

They couldn't stop thinking about his final words, or how his comforting gesture hearkened back to the strange concern they'd brushed off earlier. 

_Ask what's on your mind or come lie down with me. The shadows beneath your eyes have grown quite prominent._

Perhaps he'd really meant it after all? 

"Emet-Selch."

How easy they found it to call his name these days. 

No, not his name... Emet-Selch was merely the title of his seat, just as Elidibus, Lahabrea, Igeyorhm, and Nabriales were but titles as well. It made them wonder what the others had been like beneath the masks and anonymity of their stations. Did they share Emet-Selch's profound grief for the family, friends, and loves they'd lost? When he spoke of his world, of that time before time, he could not conceal his mourning nor his longing for that faded dream. 

They felt cruel for questioning whether he could cry. Of course he could. Emet-Selch and his kith were their foes, but he fought for the people and world he loved just as they did, and that was something they could understand. Now that they had a moment to breathe before the final confrontation with Lightwarden Vauthry, they wished to make amends for their careless remark. 

Eulmore was a quick flight from Tomra. Its citizens were still in shock after having the gilt of their paradise stripped away to reveal the grotesque lie upon which they'd supped for years. In the wake of that revelation, no few number of indentured servants had chosen to leave. Their empty quarters were more comfortable than a blanket stretched out across hard earth or scree, and so the Warrior of Light laid claim to one for a night. 

As they waited for Emet-Selch to respond, they looked around the room. Even the servant quarters in Eulmore were decadently appointed, though this room lacked a window like they had in their Pendants apartment and they rather suspected that its former occupant had lived in fear of damaging the expensive furniture they most certainly did not own. Given how tenuous continued employment could be, these surroundings had probably felt more oppressive than pleasant. 

Emet-Selch took his time in arriving. After ten minutes, they began to wonder if he would show up at all, but he sauntered in just before they gave up hope entirely.

"I'll have you know I _do_ have other obligations to attend to, Warrior. Consider this your first and final notice." 

Though he outwardly protested their summons, the fact remained that Emet-Selch had answered them. The Warrior of Light smiled and gestured to the lavish platter of food they'd obtained. An assortment of cheeses, cold cut meats, crackers, nuts, and fruits lay spread atop a linen tablecloth on the floor. They'd even managed to procure a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Please excuse my presumption. I wanted to apologize for what I said before."

Emet-Selch's eyebrows rose as he looked between them and the charcuterie they'd arranged. 

"You honestly expect me to sit on the floor?" he finally asked. 

The Warrior of Light nodded, pointing to the decorative cushion they'd stolen from the bed to serve as an impromptu chair.

"The desk in this room isn't ideal for two people to eat at, and the bed isn't solid enough to support drinks, so this was the best I could do." 

Emet-Selch shook his head, but although he complained, he sat down nonetheless. 

"We are in Eulmore, yet you host me in the quaintest of spaces. Really, hero… if this is your best, you must learn to raise your standards." 

"I would have invited you to dine in the parlor, but I thought you might prefer a bit of privacy. I know I do," they replied with a shrug as they reached for a bunch of grapes. They popped one into their mouth, and their eyes curved into crescents as it burst across their tongue with a sweetness that was refreshingly balanced. Eulmorans truly had no idea how fortunate they were to dine on such fresh produce, though they would soon confront the scarcity their neighbors lived with every day. 

Emet-Selch's eyes settled briefly on the fruit in their hands before he reached for the unopened bottle of wine. He uncorked it with a few deft twists and poured himself a glass before leaning back to watch them eat. 

"Was it just to apologize that you called me here?" he asked, idly swirling the wine in his hand. 

They gave a hesitant nod.

"I find your condescension incredibly frustrating, but I understand better now why you speak the way you do. It's never easy losing loved ones. I can't begin to imagine everything you've lost, and I'm sorry for making light of that." 

Emet-Selch's eyes narrowed. 

"I don't need your pity," he replied.

The Warrior of Light shook their head.

"It's not pity. I sympathize with your loss. I've lost a lot of people myself. Sometimes, it's almost more than I can bear. But all I can do is keep moving forward and try to honor their memories as best I can. It's the same for you, isn't it?" 

"It is _not_ the same," Emet-Selch snapped. "Your tattered soul cannot begin to compare to the people I lost! Although you stand tall among your kind, you are not- you are not whole. Death, not life, is your inheritance. To we who knew eternity, your ends are a lesser sorrow." 

They waited until he was done venting, smothering their own instinctual anger. Emet-Selch spoke from a place of pain– a wound of the heart that had festered unchecked for millennia. He sought to ease a measure of that pain by lashing out as he did, but it was up to them whether they allowed his barbed words any emotional purchase. It was only once Emet-Selch lapsed into sullen silence that they spoke.

"Be that as it may, this life is all I have known. It has worth to me, and if it truly has no worth to you, then why are we still talking? You said you wanted me to prove you wrong. Well, what if I do? What then? Will you finally acknowledge my worth?" 

They reached for the wine when they finished speaking, but instead of pouring themself a glass, they took a swig directly from the bottle. It was a good vintage, and it was deeply satisfying to claim the rest for themself after humoring Emet-Selch's diatribe. Though they'd invited him here to apologize, they had no intention of being a doormat. 

Emet-Selch frowned as he watched them set the bottle back down.

"You have appalling tableside manners," he remarked.

"What table?" they replied.

His lips twitched, betraying the barest hint of a smile.

"I suppose it's my own fault. I never should have stooped to your level."

"You're still here, so you must be enjoying some part of this. I asked you a question. Are you going to answer it or not?" 

"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you? In any case, you seem more resolved. Have you mastered your fear at last, hero?" 

It was a petty dig, and they frowned at him for bringing it up again.

"I'm still afraid," they replied bluntly, "But I'm prepared to face whatever comes head on." 

Emet-Selch gazed back at them with uncharacteristic silence. No… to say he was looking at them wasn't correct, for his eyes looked through them to the aether that comprised their soul. 

The food in their mouth lost all taste. They swallowed the bland lump reluctantly as they waited for him to say something. At last, his eyes regained their clarity, flickering up to meet their apprehensive gaze. 

"I have the power to see what you call the Lifestream," Emet-Selch said, apropos of nothing. 

The Warrior of Light blinked. It wasn't the topic they'd expected, but their curiosity easily overwhelmed their confusion. 

"Did you have another name for it?" they asked, catching on to his particular phrasing.

"We did indeed. In my time, it was known as the Underworld, and it was a far cry from the shallow aetherial sea your souls return unto. Like the star itself, the Underworld was split across fourteen reflections." 

"Why mention it now?" 

"Hm? Well, you asked me to kill you once. If you die on this shard, your soul will not return to the Source. You'll be bound to this Lifestream with no hope of meeting those fragments you call friends in your next life. Of course, you won't remember them regardless, so it doesn't really matter. Just an idle thought…" 

What idle thought? There was no way he brought it up on a guileless whim. No, this threat was meant to further harden their resolve, though the message it sent was perhaps not what Emet-Selch had intended.

"And here I thought a swift death was out of the question," they replied. Before Emet-Selch could retort, they continued. "I already told you that I won't beg you to save me. I was foolish to ask for your help before. We don't have that kind of relationship." 

Certain reactions couldn't be concealed no matter how good the actor. Emet-Selch was no stranger to performing, but while he controlled his expression well, they did not miss his subtle flinch nor the way his lips trembled for a moment before compressing into a petulant line. Their words affected him more than he cared to let on, though they couldn't imagine why they would.

"You run about doing countless mundane tasks in order to sway skeptics to your cause, but you cannot spare a fraction of that effort to coax me? Haven't I always come when you've called for me? Answered your many questions? How quickly you _forget_ the help I've graciously afforded you and yours…"

That… wasn't something they'd expected him to sulk about, and they made no effort to hide their obvious confusion. Seeing their expression, Emet-Selch sighed. 

"Never mind. I should know by now that this is how you are." 

"No, hold on a minute," they said as their brain finally rebooted. "Let me get this straight… You actually want me to ask you for help?" 

"Isn't that what companions do?" he asked dryly. 

Their brain stalled again. 

"C-companions?" they sputtered.

Emet-Selch offered them an insincere smile before drinking another sip of wine.

"Are we not traveling companions? Or am I such a forgettable face in your journey?" 

His tone soured on the second question. Emet-Selch looked away from them, his expression cooling by several degrees.

The Warrior of Light didn't know what to make of it. This was a side of Emet-Selch they weren't prepared to consider. Of course, there had always been discrepancies between what he said and how he behaved. He repeatedly scorned their mortal imperfections, but he also enjoyed their company enough to seek it out, even if he would never admit to it. They understood that much about his contradictory personality. But this… 

"Emet-Selch… do you know of a better way to contain the Light?" they hedged. 

His eyes slid back over to them. Several seconds passed before he deigned to respond.

"Why would you wish to contain such loathsome aether? But if that is your solution… As a native of the Source, you are seven times Rejoined. Another Rejoining would give your soul the necessary strength to bear it." 

Their stomach sank. That was out of the question, given that a Rejoining was exactly what they were trying to prevent. They would not sacrifice others to survive. 

"I see…" they murmured.

Emet-Selch scoffed.

"Hardly. The Light has blinded you to other possibilities. How pitiful… shall I give you a hint?" 

The Warrior of Light nodded, suppressing their eagerness as a flicker of hope stirred in their chest.

Emet-Selch smirked.

"What's the magic word?" 

… Sometimes, they really wanted to punch him. 

"Please…" they managed to squeeze out through gritted teeth. 

Emet-Selch's eyes crinkled in pleasure. Raising his left hand, he tugged the glove off with his teeth and discarded it carelessly. Then he dipped his index finger into his glass of wine and swirled it through the crimson liquid until it gradually turned clear. Emet-Selch flicked it in their direction with a playful expression.

Their skin stung where the droplets of transmuted wine landed. It took them a moment to place the familiar sensation. 

"Rak'tika…" they breathed, recalling how it felt to anoint themself with the Dark blessed water.

"Correct. Your aether has tilted so far to the Light, His grace brings pain instead of succor. But you're not one to run from pain, I trust? I rather think you welcome it seeing how you carry on…" he replied. 

Light and Dark. Umbral and Astral. 

An excess of either polarity was hostile to life– it was only when they were balanced that life could flourish. But in a world so heavily tilted towards Light, how could they hope to balance the scales? 

At that moment, Emet-Selch stretched out his bare hand, palm raised in silent invitation. Water dripped from his fingers onto the long-neglected spread below as he waited for their reply.

The Warrior of Light took a breath… but not his hand. 

"I can't," they said, not fully understanding what they refused but _knowing_ deep down that they must refuse him. It was a feeling they couldn't explain, an instinct that transcended logic as their very soul rebelled against that choice. 

They didn't know when they started crying, or why. One moment, their vision was clear. The next, it was all they could do to stem the flood of tears as their body flushed hot and cold with a visceral surge of emotion. 

Then there were hands on their shoulders holding them gently. A voice called their name, though it sounded alien to their ears. Someone's aether swirled around them, and while its inky caress made the Light inside them flare violently, there was a familiar quality to it that soothed them as well. 

It took a while for them to register that Emet-Selch was the one by their side. It was his voice calling them back to the present. 

"You've returned…" he said when they no longer stared blindly through him. 

"From what…?" they wondered out loud. They were still dazed and shaken by the experience, whatever it was. 

"Did you remember anything?" Emet-Selch prompted. His tone was cautious, but his expression was strangely intense.

The Warrior of Light blinked slowly.

"Should I have?"

Emet-Selch closed his eyes for a moment. He gave the barest shake of his head before releasing their shoulders. 

"Forget I asked. The night grows old. If you falter on the morrow due to lack of sleep, I won't even wait around to watch you turn," he threatened. 

They looked around for the food, about to protest that he hadn't even touched it, but the linen tablecloth with its sumptuous spread was nowhere to be seen. Only the wine bottle remained, which he picked up now.

"Where did the food go?" they asked, baffled by its disappearance. 

"I packed it up while you were… indisposed. You got it for me as an apology, did you not? Well, apology accepted." 

Wait…

"It was for me too!" they shouted when they realized he intended to make off with the lot. That was supposed to be their dinner as well, but all they'd eaten were a few grapes! 

Emet-Selch rose to his feet and, peering down the length of his nose at them, took a deliberate swig from the bottle of wine. The wine they'd claimed by doing the same. He couldn't even leave them that? 

"Perhaps I'll host you next time, hero. Show you how hospitality should be done." 

"I don't need a demonstration in hosting from someone who never learned how to be a good guest," they shot back.

Their ire fell on deaf ears. With a smirk, Emet-Selch teleported away. 

Half the air in the room left with him. 

The Warrior of Light sat back on their haunches, temper quickly fading as they were left to sift through their thoughts alone. Their mind was a mess, and they knew from experience that if they did not settle it before falling asleep, their dreams would be equally restless.

Just what was it that had come over them? They were used to the Echo giving them out of body flashbacks to other people's pasts, but the sorrow that had overwhelmed them rose up from within, not without. Then there was Emet-Selch's question.

_Did you remember anything?_

They remembered how he'd looked when he asked them. They'd been too shaken at the time to dwell on it, but now it was all they could think about. When he'd last reminisced about his lost paradise– the very conversation they'd called him here to apologize for –he'd made an offhand remark about their memory as well. 

_Not that you would remember any of this_

That aside held more significance now. It seemed Emet-Selch _wanted_ them to remember his world, but why? Did he think those lost memories would sway them to his way of thinking? 

That night, they dreamt of a starshower.

The land buckled underfoot as they ran through fire and ruin, but they were not fleeing the destruction– their feet carried them towards the very heart of the chaos.

Ash papered the back of their throat. Their lungs burned as surely as the world around them, but they couldn't stop. There was no time to stop. If they failed at this juncture, so much would be lost… More than they could bear to lose… 

_Please understand. Even if you can't forgive me, I have to do this. I have to find-_

"Warrior."

Ardbert's voice roused them from their slumber. He looked apologetic as they blinked up at him wearily. 

"You asked me to wake you at this time, though maybe you should sleep longer? You look like you could use another hour or two…" he said.

They sat up, shaking their head. A vague sense of dread still haunted them, but the details of their dream grew less distinct with each passing second. 

"I'm fine," they croaked.

Ardbert crossed his arms. 

"I get it. I was also pretty bad about taking breaks when I was still alive, but you've got to take better care of yourself. People are counting on you." 

Brittle laughter escaped them before they could suppress it. The Warrior of Light cast off their blankets and stood, feeling the weight of an entire world balanced on their shoulders. Perhaps this was why Emet-Selch always slouched. 

"I know," they replied, meeting Ardbert's worried eyes. "How could I ever forget?" 

They did not have long to bask in their victory over Innocence. When his aether joined the conflagration simmering in their veins, it finally boiled over, spilling from their lips like blood. They choked on it, unable to draw breath for the pain that lanced through every ilm of their being and turned their vision white.

"Twelve forfend, they cannot contain the Light. They're beginning to turn!" 

Y'shtola's voice sounded distant to their ears, but it confirmed what they already knew. Their victory was in fact a failure, and if the Exarch did not make good on his plan, the First would soon bear the cost of their inadequacy.

Dying hurt a great deal. 

They did their best to hold on. It was all they could anymore. Every second they bought through sheer tenacity was a second they spared their comrades from the calamity of their descent, for who among them could strike down the Warrior of Light? Even if they were willing, it was beyond their means. 

They clenched their jaw until they felt their teeth crack. It was a lesser pain compared to the vitreous crackling of their soul as it continued to shatter. Another mouthful of Light-poisoned aether burst from their mouth, spattering across the ground with a lurid glow.

Ryne called their name like it was a mantra as she stumbled towards them, but the Exarch– G'raha Tia –motioned her back as he revealed his hand at last.

The Warrior of Light gazed up at him blankly, recalling the younger face of a friend they'd long since bid farewell to. Then and now, his answer was to offer himself as a sacrifice.

What a stupid plan… No wonder he'd kept it from them. He even tried to make himself seem like a villain to spare them to guilt of losing yet another companion… 

_I don't want this_ … they thought as they watched him begin the incantation that would end his life, but they lacked the strength to voice their objection. They lacked the strength to do anything except look on helplessly as he martyred himself in their name…

And then a gunshot rang out.

G'raha Tia went rigid, lips parting in shock before he toppled to the ground. 

Emet-Selch lowered his pistol as he surveyed the scene with a dispassionate gaze.

"The problem with incantations is that they take too long," he remarked, nudging G'raha's body with his boot. "Bullets provide a much swifter resolution." 

"Emet-Selch!" Alisaie cried.

He ignored her, walking over to the Warrior of Light instead. As he crouched before them, his dispassion morphed to disappointment. There was anger in his eyes, though less than they would have expected. 

"I placed my faith in you. Let myself believe you could contain the Light," he said in the tone of a parent reprimanding a recalcitrant child.

They dug their fingernails into the stone beneath their hands and felt them break.

"Never… asked you to…" they reminded him. It was an ordeal to say even that much, but if this was their end, they would not yield meekly to their fate. 

His lips twisted into a mocking smile. When he spoke again, his volume barely registered above a whisper. His words were meant only for their ears.

"Still, I expected you might fail and prepared accordingly. Didn't I say I would host you next time? Thus do I formally invite you to follow me back to my abode in the depths of the Tempest. There, you may complete your descent into madness with some dignity, far from prying eyes." 

Their response was to spit a mouthful of glowing liquid at his feet and glare up at him. 

Emet-Selch scowled at their resistance. 

"Now is not the time to be stubborn, hero."

Now was the _perfect_ time to be stubborn. It was, after all, their final opportunity.

What they could not convey through words, they conveyed through their expression. 

Emet-Selch swore under his breath, and the Warrior of Light smiled. It brought them satisfaction to see his composure lapse, for it betrayed that he was still invested in the outcome. Their worth to him was predicated on more than their success. 

For a brief moment, the pain receded as laughter bubbled on their lips. Then it all caught up with them in a blinding rush. Stars burst inside their skull as they finally pitched forward with a ragged gasp and closed their eyes. 

The Warrior of Light lay prone at his feet.

This was his cue to exit stage left and let the Oracle of Light step up to stabilize their aether. That much was within her capabilities, though her power was not enough to restrain the Light indefinitely. But that burble of laughter left his mind blank, for instead of cynicism, it held a trace of unexpected joy. 

How he missed that laugh. Their journey through this world had been long and weary, with little occasion for levity. It wasn't like them to be so serious for so long… 

No. It wasn't right to think of them as the same person, for how could they ever measure up to his memories? But that color… that feeble, flickering soul that faded more with each passing moment… it was the echo of his dearest companion. 

They'd walked away from him once, yet he could not bring himself to do the same now. The sight held him fixed with horror and grief alike. Azem. This broken, tattered fragment of Azem was dying. Would die in thrall to Her Light. What an outrage. They would never have chosen to champion Her cause if they were whole of mind and memory, for they'd rejected the yoke of Hydaelyn and Zodiark alike. 

She'd claimed them as Her tool after the Sundering. In the event of Her champion's failure, he thought to do the same. It was for the greater good. A painful but necessary sacrifice, and when the world was made whole once more, he would atone. Even if it took the rest of his life, he would make things right with them again. 

And then they laughed, and his convictions were as leaves scattered upon the wind. 

It was more than he could bear. 

Emet-Selch's physical form began to swell as he drew upon the power of the Underworld, pitiful though it was on this shard. The insects the Warrior of Light called friends made an awful din as he cradled their limp body in his arms. One of the children threw herself at him, her rapier aimed straight for his back. Emet-Selch sent her flying back into the arms of her brother. 

"Know your places," he sneered.

"Release our friend!" the miqo'te sorceress commanded. A gout of flame blazed forth from her staff, but it guttered out long before it reached him as he starved the spell of aether without even lifting a hand. 

"I think not. They are to be my consolation prize. As for the rest of you… your performance hardly merits an encore. Bow out gracefully and spare me the effort of removing you from the stage myself." 

He had not the luxury of time to banter with them, nor the desire. Emet-Selch made a gesture with his claws, and tendrils of deepest shadow surged forth to bind the Scions where they stood. With another gesture, he could put a permanent end to their meddling… but their petty lives weren't worth the effort.

Forcing them to their knees, Emet-Selch opened an aetherial rift. He did not spare them another glance as departed.

"Emet-Selch…" 

They called his title with delight as they lay across from him on a manicured lawn. It was twilight, and a breeze warm with the scent of late spring tickled their bare cheeks. 

Emet-Selch frowned back at them.

"Use my name when we're alone. There's no need to be so formal." 

It took them a while to remember. His name was a slippery thing, eluding their grasp as it rose slowly to the surface of their mind.

"Hades," they finally said with a smile, speaking his name like it was a treasure.

Hades closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against theirs. His arms trembled as he wrapped them up, pulling them close so that their heat and breath mingled.

"You finally remembered…" he murmured. 

They blinked. Something wasn't right about his words.

"It only slipped my mind briefly. How could I have forgotten?" they asked.

Instead of replying, Hades nestled his face in the crook of their neck and inhaled. They realized then that his whole body was trembling, not just his arms. 

Why was he shaking? 

"Are you alright?" they asked, stroking his back in concern.

"I'm just… a little tired," Hades mumbled against their neck. "Humor an old man and rest with me awhile, won't you?" 

"I suppose I can spare an hour," they teased, pressing a kiss against his cheek. He moved his head to catch it with his lips instead, sending a sweet current tingling through their body. 

Except, this wasn't right either… The longer they kissed, the more the current intensified. It no longer felt sweet. When a sharp pain assaulted their skull, they pushed him away to clutch their head with both hands.

Hades called their name.

Somehow, it both was and wasn't their name. 

"Stay with me! Forgive me, I lost focus for a moment, but it won't happen again. Just stay in this moment…" he pleaded.

The pain receded, but they were aware now that their perception was altered. Other memories began to surface, and they spun a web of contradictions.

It was true that Hades was dear to them.

It was also true that he was their enemy. 

What was this moment he begged them to remain within? A dream? No, that did not strike them as entirely correct… There was something they were missing, something he was deliberately suppressing from their awareness. The pain was their clue. If they could only figure out what it meant… 

They focused on it, submerging themself in that current. Hades hissed as it came flooding back.

"Don't fight me! I am barely shielding you from this without your meddling!" 

"What are you shielding me from?" they demanded, jabbing a finger into his chest. They made to rise, but Hades pulled them back down, wincing. 

"That damnable Light… I am sheltering your soul in mine while it dissipates, but it's not exactly pleasant. I would spare you the experience." 

They didn't have to be an expert in aetherology to realize how reckless that was. The finger jabbing into his chest was replaced by a fist that they smacked down with a dull thud.

"Have you lost your mind? It's too dangerous!" 

Hades flinched under the blow, but his lips curved in satisfaction as he held their gaze with unwavering determination.

"I'm afraid a measure of your impulsivity has worn off on me, my dear. Just this once, let me protect you." 

Affection and exasperation collided as two sets of memories colored their perception. Still, they had enough presence of mind to know that there was a difference between who they were and who they'd once been, and that the distinction was important. 

"You know I can't do that, Hades," they replied. Their heart ached seeing his face pale as they reached for the pain again, but they were not wont to yield once they'd committed to a course of action.

Hades grimaced. 

The world around them began to dissolve as his control frayed. 

The Warrior of Light opened their eyes. 

No, not just their eyes. 

They weren't the Warrior of Light anymore. That vessel lay empty on the ground, as lifeless as any corpse they'd left in their wake. Mortals broke so easily. The mortal part of them that shared their soul with Hades was still breaking.

The terrible Light they contained had once sundered the star and every soul upon it. It strove to sunder them even now. Their aether embraced it, quickened its stagnation with new growth, but the healing was painful. The fractures scabbed over, only to be promptly ripped open again as the Light bled out to mingle with blessed Dark. But as much as it hurt, they knew they could bear the burden. This would not break them, for they were not alone. 

It felt like an eternity before the Light subsided. They were no stranger to eternity. Such a tedious existence they'd led for a thousand, thousand mortal lives. How they longed to slumber through the ages if not for the fact their work was never done. But for the first time in millennia, they were at peace. The voice in their mind that compelled them to keep toiling for the restoration of their God had fallen quiet.

They were of two minds about that silence. Part of them rejoiced while another part balked. The disharmony within them continued to grow until, at last, they could no longer reconcile the difference. Their form warped as a violent schism ripped them apart–

–and the empty vessel was empty no longer. 

Emet-Selch looked down at the pitiful body that contained the better part of his beloved. 

It was still an affront to see them like this knowing how radiant their soul had once been– like a star unto itself. He wanted them to be whole again. He wanted it with every fiber of his being. But neither could he regard this fragment as an obstacle to sweep aside, for the thought of letting any part of Azem come to harm was even more abhorrent than their incomplete state.

Time… His time was endless. He could live another mortal life with them and wait until their soul left this body. Then, before their essence yielded to the Underworld's pull, he would capture it. Hydaelyn would torment them no longer. They could rest, free of her manipulations until such a time as the shards could be Rejoined in full. 

Yes. That was a compromise he could make… 

Releasing his borrowed power, Emet-Selch let his form shrink back down to a mortal size and stooped to gather up the Warrior's unconscious body. It would be some time before they awoke. Until then, he would ensure they rested comfortably. 

When they opened their eyes, they were in a room they'd never seen before that nonetheless felt like home. A sense of belonging pervaded from the moment their awareness returned to them. Such intrinsic affinity could only have one cause– this room was a place they were once familiar with, though the memory of it remained buried.

Emet-Selch– or should they call him Hades? –was nowhere to be seen, but they were not alone in the room. Ardbert looked over when they stirred, straightening up from his idle slouch to greet them with a warm smile.

"You're awake at last. Don't worry, I haven't been here long. I try to give you privacy, especially when you're sleeping, but I got the sense you might wake up soon so I came to check on you. How are you feeling?" 

"Nothing hurts, so… not bad," they replied, sitting up cautiously. If any Light remained in their body, they could no longer sense it.

"I'm glad to hear it," Ardbert said, though his smile dimmed a fraction as he continued. "When Emet-Selch took you away, I managed to follow you to this place, but all I could do was watch as he…" 

He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. 

"What did he do?" they asked. They had an idea of what had happened, but their impressions of that time were haphazard at best.

Ardbert's expression clouded further. He hesitated a few seconds before answering. 

"I watched him pull your soul from your body. It was like he took your aether into himself. I was pretty frantic at the time… didn't know what to do. There was nothing I _could_ do, but then… he started to change."

He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, looking troubled. It was another moment before he continued. 

"I've seen one of those things before, back when my companions and I defeated the Ascians of our world. Loghrif and Mitron were their names. At the very last, they joined into one being. That… you and Emet-Selch… you were one as well." 

Ardbert opened his eyes, looking up at them helplessly. 

"What does it mean?" he asked.

The Warrior of Light gazed down at the blankets covering their legs. Their memories were hazy, but they remembered how it had felt to be joined and the peace it had brought them, however briefly. It was the same sense of belonging they felt in this room, like they'd returned home after a long and winding journey. It was love. 

Their hands curled into the blankets as they swallowed a lump in their throat. 

"The person I was in the past… we were close. I started to remember when our souls joined. He did it to save me, or… maybe just the echo of them that he saw in me. But he put his own life on the line to absorb the excess Light…" 

Understanding dawned on Ardbert's face. 

"So that's why… There's something you should know. After Emet-Selch brought you here to rest, the night returned again. Your friends are still searching for you but everyone else is celebrating. There's not a soul left in Norvrandt who hasn't seen the stars." 

The night had returned? A smile broke out across their face as they dared to hope that the Light within them was truly spent. But if that was true, was the First no longer in danger? No… What Emet-Selch fought for wasn't something he would forsake so easily. The Architect would simply draft a new plan, if he hadn't done so already. 

They had to find a way to keep him in check. 

As they thought of this, the door to the room opened and Emet-Selch stepped in. Two pairs of eyes turned to look at him, though he only had eyes for the Warrior of Light. His expression brightened when he noticed they were up. 

"Perfect timing. There is food in the dining room. Come break your fast with me." 

"How did you know I would be awake to eat with you?" they asked.

"The fluctuations of your aether indicated that you would rouse soon."

They frowned at the implication.

"You were watching me sleep?" 

Emet-Selch shrugged.

"I was ensuring that your recovery progressed without incident. As I am feeling generous today, a simple thank you will suffice."

They raised their chin stubbornly.

"Don't do it again without my permission." 

A hand fluttered up to his chest as Emet-Selch feigned hurt.

"Here I am trying to be a good host, but my best intentions are called into question. You are a poor guest yourself, hero." 

… So he really intended to act out this play after everything that had happened. They didn't know whether to roll their eyes at him or laugh, so they did both in turn. When they looked up again, Emet-Selch watched them with a wistful expression that he didn't quite manage to erase fast enough. They tactfully decided not to comment on it. 

"Where is this?" they asked, gesturing around the room. 

His lips tugged down in mild displeasure, though he kept his tone level.

"A recreation of... my home. I had hoped you would recognize it." 

His home. Though they did not consciously remember it, their soul did. It resonated with the implicit knowledge of what he'd hesitated to say.

"This was our home, wasn't it?" 

This time, he did not try to hide the longing in his eyes.

"Yes," he replied very softly, voice cracking on that single word. "Welcome home, dear." 

A bittersweet feeling welled up from the depths of their being. Emet-Selch's words hummed through their veins as it struck a familiar chord, and the faint outline of a memory returned to them. A few fulms away, Ardbert frowned as his lips silently formed a word.

The scent of food wafted in through the open door, stirring their appetite and grounding them back in the present. Their stomach reminded them loudly that they hadn't eaten in several days. 

"What did you cook for me?" they asked, sliding eagerly to the edge of the bed. Their body felt a little weak after sleeping for so long, but they hid their infirmity as they stood up, not wanting to give him a reason to tease them, or worse– be concerned. 

Emet-Selch raised an eyebrow.

"Do I look like someone who cooks?"

The Warrior of Light grinned, choosing not to answer that question as they brushed past him. Their nose led them straight to the dining room, where they found a table set with several light dishes. Nothing too heavy for a convalescent patient… 

"My compliments to your hired chefs," they replied as they sat down and served themself a bowl of soup with an exquisitely clear and fragrant broth. The consommé was on par with something well to-do Lominsans would order from the Bismarck. 

Emet-Selch took the seat across from them. He scoffed at their remark as he filled his plate with slices of roasted fowl and a salad of mixed greens. 

"Don't sass me. Cooking was never one of my strengths. I thought it best to spare us both the disappointment and order out." 

They couldn’t find fault with that decision. Sampling each of the dishes in turn, they found them all to be as fresh and flavorful as the finest meals they could remember eating in the Source. Not that they expected anything less of Emet-Selch. Someone who’d played countless imperial roles spanning millennia would be accustomed to a certain level of quality. Their indoor picnic in Eulmore was a little embarrassing in retrospect.

The more they thought about it, the more it bothered them. There was an unspoken truce between them in the wake of Emet-Selch’s intervention, but it would not last forever, and as it stood now… Emet-Selch held all the power. By failing to contain the Light on their own, they’d proven his point. How could they hope to convince him that his view was too narrow, that the lives he dismissed as frail and flawed were more resilient than he gave them credit for? How could they make him respect the person they were now, not just who they’d once been? Perhaps it was too much to ask, though they wouldn’t let it stop them from trying. 

“Care to share your thoughts?” Emet-Selch prompted when they set their fork down at last. The meal had passed in relative silence as they spent the time mulling over their options. Blinking, the Warrior of Light looked up at him.

“Just wondering what comes next,” they replied.

“I thought we might go for a walk. That is, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“A walk? Where to?”

Emet-Selch set his elbow on the table and leaned into his upturned palm. His posture was relaxed and his tone quite placid, but his gaze did not waver from their face for an instant. 

“This space is just one small part of a greater illusion. In truth, I have recreated Amaurot in its entirety. Would you like to see it?”

How could they say no to that? Still, a contrary part of them wanted to.

“What if my answer is no?” they asked.

Emet-Selch feigned a hurt expression.

“You’d break my heart,” he replied. “Weaving this particular magic wasn’t as simple as snapping my fingers, you know.”

It was already extraordinary that this space was illusory. They would not have known that it was a simulacrum if he had not told them. The sheer magnitude of aether required to recreate an entire city from memory was beyond their comprehension, especially if he maintained the same level of detail that he dedicated to his home. Emet-Selch was vastly underselling how much effort he’d expended in bringing this memory to life.

He was indeed a thoughtful host.

“Let’s walk through the city, then. I’m not too tired,” they said. And it wasn’t entirely the truth, but how could they remain idle when curiosity made their feet itch with restless desire?

Emet-Selch’s eyes shone, betraying his keen anticipation. 

“Just say when.”

They didn’t know what to expect when they stepped outside Emet-Selch’s home.

Amaurot was not anything they could have expected.

The moment they looked up and beheld the gleaming spires and towers that made up the city, they understood a measure of Emet-Selch’s disdain for the world that had followed. They reached for his hand subconsciously, entwining their fingers with his as they processed how small and insignificant they felt.

“It’s so much bigger than I imagined,” they whispered. 

Emet-Selch gave their hand a squeeze before pulling them along.

“This was the true scale of our world. I diminish myself in order to walk among your kind and play at being mortal. It’s stifling.”

His words grounded them. The Warrior of Light pulled their hand out of his.

“Don’t diminish yourself on my account,” they remarked coolly.

“It is easier to speak with you in this form,” he replied, resting his hand on the small of their back. “While I would not mind carrying you around the city, I rather suspect you would object.”

“What I mostly object to is your patronizing attitude,” they grumbled as they peeled his hand away, only to have him wrap his arm around their shoulders instead. 

Emet-Selch seemed determined to insert himself into their personal space since they’d made the mistake of breaching his first, as if holding his hand was a blanket invitation to touch them. It wasn’t unpleasant– honestly, they were more than a bit touch starved –but it was the principle of the matter.

"Then I will allow this place to speak for itself," he said.

Across the immaculate paved boulevard, a pair of tall spectres milled about. The Warrior of Light tensed as Emet-Selch led them over and the figures turned to look at them. 

"They can see us?" the Warrior whispered urgently. Emet-Selch merely smiled in reply. 

"Children," One of the spectres– an Amaurotine, presumably –knelt to greet them with kindly concern as they approached. "Where are your parents? In times such as these, you should be at home with your family." 

"We aren't-" they began to object before Emet-Selch silenced them with a meaningful nudge. They shut up. 

Children. 

Was that how the Ancients saw them? 

"Take care not to frighten them," the other Amaurotine murmured before kneeling to speak to them as well. "You little ones needn't worry. The Convocation of Fourteen toils without rest to devise a solution. Have faith that they will steer us safely through this calamity." 

"The Convocation of Fourteen?" they asked, frowning.

"The brightest minds of our age who guide our city and star alike on their course. What have they been teaching you in school these days?"

"Please excuse my friend," Emet-Selch replied when they lapsed into awkward silence, uncertain of how to respond. "They are a little forgetful at the moment." 

The Amaurotine who'd questioned them nodded sympathetically. 

"It's not uncommon during stressful times. Be sure to apply yourself to your studies when you return home. Perhaps your friend can help you review?" 

"I shall indeed," Emet-Selch promised. 

The Amaurotines bid them a polite farewell before returning to their conversation. 

The Warrior of Light remained silent until they'd gained enough distance for their own words not to carry.

"The Convocation of Fourteen…" 

"We actually numbered thirteen at the time. The Fourteenth vacated their seat during the Final Days." 

"Why would they leave at such a critical moment?" 

The arm around their shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. They might have missed it if Emet-Selch hadn't remained uncharacteristically silent for several breaths. 

"I often asked myself the same," he replied at length. "They were always a controversial figure, but while their perspective and approach to duty was… unique to say the least, few were more devoted to the work." 

Thirteen souls labored to weave a will for their dying star. Thirteen Ascians served in thrall to the God they'd succeeded in summoning. If the Fourteenth was as devoted as Emet-Selch claimed, there must have been a good reason for their decision to walk away at the last, but without more context, they couldn't begin to speculate why. 

It haunted them.

But that was the point of this, wasn't it? The past haunted Emet-Selch every waking moment. He wanted them to see it, to remember what they'd both lost so that he was less alone with his memories. Because, as they explored more of the city with him, they began to understand how lonely Emet-Selch had been. 

This Amaurot was a moment frozen in time. It was telling that he'd chosen its Final Days instead of a happier time when the utopia he remembered fondly was still just that instead of a city on the brink of oblivion. Here, his grief and solitude were laid bare. It revealed itself in every conversation they shared with the shades who walked its perfect streets. Emet-Selch breathed life into his memories that they might speak on his behalf, but they were ultimately just that. Memories, incapable of keeping him company. 

It was an elaborate production staged solely for their benefit, and it was impressive in scope… but it brought them little joy to witness.

"Still nothing?" Emet-Selch inquired as they left the Hall of Rhetoric. 

They shook their head, earning a sigh. 

"It was a place you frequented whenever you were in the city," he said.

"That's hard to believe. I'm not really one for debates." 

"You weren't the most verbose person, but you _were_ readily willing to, ah, defend your contrary perspectives." 

That sounded more like them, though it was discomforting to hear him speak of who they were. 

As they approached the Bureau of the Architect, they noticed Emet-Selch's pace slowing until he drew to a full stop before its entrance, gazing up at the building with… trepidation? He laid a hand against the grand doors but did not push them open, seeming hesitant to proceed. 

"A close friend of mine worked here," he explained when they looked at him askance. "If you wish to see the Bureau, I will wait for you outside. I would rather not chance encountering his shade." 

Emet-Selch had recreated a city full of ghosts, yet there was actually one among them who he could not bear to see?

"What was his name?" they asked.

"Hythlodaeus." 

_Hythlodaeus_. They repeated the name, but though it sounded pleasant to their ear, it sparked no particular connection. 

Emet-Selch looked away.

"Go on. Take your time. I'm more than capable of entertaining myself," he said. 

Just as well. They desired a moment alone from him to process everything they'd seen and learned in Amaurot.

The Bureau of the Architect oversaw the submission and approval of new Concepts. The clerks were pleased to explain the process to such a precocious young person, though they seemed baffled by their low affinity for creation magics. 

"Despair not, little one. There are special tools you can use to overcome this deficiency. If you wait a bit, I will procure a set for you and a simple Concept suitable for children to practice manifesting," the clerk they spoke to offered kindly. 

They didn't have the heart to explain that, even with said tools, it was probably beyond their means. Little wonder that Emet-Selch wove magic with such ease. The act of creation was so integral to Amaurotine society, they took for granted that it was a gift every soul was natively endowed with. 

As they sat and waited for the promised tools to be delivered, they wondered if their past self had contributed any Concepts to the archives. What manner of ideas would they have dreamed up? 

"Excuse me… is the seat next to you open?" a voice inquired.

The Warrior of Light looked up to see another Amaurotine. Shaking their head, they gestured for the stranger to join them. 

"Thank you." 

They assumed that would be the end of their communication, but after only a few seconds of silence, the stranger spoke up again. 

"May I ask what brings you here? I cannot help but notice that you do not belong to this memory." 

The Warrior of Light turned to look at the stranger sharply. 

"You know this place is an illusion?" they asked. 

"A moment in time snatched from Emet-Selch's past, yes. I am aware, though the others do not appear to share my clarity. Perhaps Emet-Selch was distracted when he wove my memory into being." 

"Hythlodaeus?" they guessed, sitting up a little straighter. 

"That was my name," Hythlodaeus confirmed, inclining his head. "Could it be that you remember me?"

"I'm sorry… are you someone I should remember?" they asked. Emet-Selch had only mentioned that this person was his friend, not someone they'd both known… 

Hythlodaeus chuckled.

"Do not trouble yourself. I would never mistake the color of your aether, but while you share a soul with my old friend, you are your own person. As different from them as the one who follows in your wake." 

Hythlodaeus raised his head, gazing past them. When they turned to look, they saw Ardbert standing a few paces away, eyes wide with shock. 

"You can see me too?" he asked. 

Hythlodaeus nodded. 

Ardbert's lower lip trembled. He glanced between them before slowly approaching.

"Why is it that you both can see me? Do you know?" 

"The two of you once shared a soul, and thus, you share an indelible connection. As for myself, I have the ability to see the souls of the dead as clearly as you behold the forms of the living. It is a rare gift that Emet-Selch himself possesses, though between the two of us, my vision is keener. If he failed to perceive you, it may well be that the faint glimmer of your soul was overshadowed by theirs," Hythlodaeus explained. 

The Warrior of Light looked at Ardbert, feeling as conflicted as he appeared to be. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, frowning at himself as he failed to verbalize his thoughts. After a minute of struggling, he finally shrugged and forced a smile. 

"It makes sense. I thought I imagined it, but back in the Crystarium, you felt it too, right?" 

Ardbert raised his hand, extending it towards them. They stretched their own hand out to meet his. The moment their fingers touched, a familiar current passed between them and their soul lit up once more. It was a transcendent feeling, so overwhelming in its intensity that they couldn't quite place the emotion, but when they broke apart a second time, they felt the loss as keenly as if they'd severed one of their own limbs. 

Ardbert stared down at his hand, looking equally lost. Slowly, he clenched it into a fist.

"Is this why I'm still here? If I realized my purpose earlier and joined with you then, could we have been strong enough to contain the Light...?" he wondered aloud. 

"Don't think that way," they said, a strange protectiveness stirring within them. "You've already given more than anyone should have asked of you. Your purpose is not to become a sacrifice." 

"Isn't it?" he asked, eyes darkening. "Isn't that just what we do? I gave my life so I could travel to the Source to save my world from a Flood. You journeyed here in turn to take on that Light because no one else could shoulder the burden. It's in our nature to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good..." 

"It shouldn't have to be!" 

The words welled up from the depths of their soul with such conviction, they were left stunned. From whence did it spring? They'd long resigned themself to the belief that their strength meant they could take on more, were morally _obliged_ to take on more for the sake of those who could not stand as tall in the face of adversity.

Hythlodaeus cleared his throat.

"If I may interrupt for a moment, I have something to say…"

Ardbert recovered first. 

"Speak," he said, gesturing for Hythlodaeus to continue. 

Hythlodaeus inclined his head politely. 

"We Amaurotines were called upon to make a great sacrifice during the Final Days. Half of our people gave up their aether to summon Zodiark, but though He wove the laws of our world anew, it was unfit to sustain life. Thus did another half give up their aether to ensure a future for our star, and it was our honor to give ourselves to that noble purpose. 

This was the solution the Convocation of Fourteen proposed, yet only thirteen of their number carried out the plan, for the Fourteenth seat dissented. Their defection was regarded by their peers as a selfish betrayal. However, I never knew them to be a selfish person. Until now, I had always wondered why they chose to leave… but I think I begin to understand at last." 

“What do you understand?” the Warrior of Light asked.

The way Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus spoke about the Fourteenth was similar. Both were strangely reluctant to blame them despite their unequivocal betrayal, which led the Warrior to believe that the Fourteenth was once someone they’d both regarded as a close friend. 

Perhaps it was a coincidence that _they_ had once been friends with both as well.

They rather suspected it was not.

The Warrior of Light looked towards Ardbert, who turned his head to look at them at the same time. They didn’t need words to communicate what they were both thinking at that moment.

“Esteemed Hythlodaeus, am I interrupting an important conversation?” the clerk from before inquired.

“Not at all. I’m the one who interrupted,” Hythlodaeus replied. Rising from his seat, he offered them a courteous bow. “Fare you well, my new old friend. Please give Emet-Selch my regards when you see him.”

The Bureau clerk looked at them curiously as Hythlodaeus departed.

“Child, you are familiar with Emet-Selch?”

Thinking of Hythlodaeus’ parting words, they nodded. Whatever their relationship was before, whatever it was now, they could never be strangers. A new old friend… yes. That was fitting.

“What an honor that someone so young should know two men as great as the Architect and our very own Bureau’s Secretary. Please take these tools. They are yours to keep. I pray that you practice well and grow up to become a shining example to others yourself,” the clerk said, passing them a bundle.

It was tiny in the Amaurotine’s hands, but the tools within fit their own hands just right. The Warrior of Light looked up at the kindly spectre and, for the first time since they’d stepped into Emet-Selch’s memories, felt whole.

It didn’t matter that they weren’t perfect. It felt bad to fail, and like Ardbert, they’d internalized their failure as personal shortcoming to atone for. But why should it be? Why was that a burden they unfairly placed on themself when they would never expect another to carry the weight alone? These tools spoke to that ethos. Though they were not capable of wielding the kind of magicks the people of Amaurot once did with their vast wells of aether, Amaurot did not hold its citizens to the lofty standard of perfection that Emet-Selch extolled. It recognized that individuals were born with different aptitudes, and instead of pitying and excluding those who were not as gifted in creation magic, created tools to bridge the gap that they might contribute just as fully, for people did not succeed or fail in isolation. 

“Thank you,” the Warrior of Light told the clerk sincerely as they pressed the bundle close to their chest. “I’ll do my best.”

“Know that we at the Bureau of the Architect are cheering for your success, little one. When times are less uncertain, pray return and show us the shape of your will.”

Even on the precipice of oblivion, there was work to be done in Amaurot, and its citizens would not abandon their posts. As they watched the clerk drift away, a melancholy feeling rose to the fore. Knowing that this sense of duty would lead to such great sacrifice, they could not help but wish there was a better way, one that did not ask so much. But these were immutable memories of a time long past. Only Emet-Selch and his fellow Ascians still held fast to a dying hope that things could be as they once were. 

What were the dreams of the dead? If they could give voice to their longing, what kind of future would they wish for? Would they have looked upon those who came to be after the Sundering with the same horror and contempt that Emet-Selch reserved for the half-men he so reviled? Or would they have welcomed them as new life to be taught and guided, no less deserving of existence than their forebears? 

Emet-Selch’s perspective was naturally skewed by his Tempering. Though these shades were an extension of his mind and therefore influenced by that same aetheric corruption, the bias did not seem as great as the criticism he habitually leveled to their face. Perhaps this Amaurot was a truer reflection of his feelings. Or perhaps… 

The Warrior of Light frowned as they recalled a moment of sublime harmony that had felt like a dream, when their mind was not wholly their own and their soul entwined with a profound darkness that cradled their flickering starlight. There had been a third voice too, but it faded from their awareness before they could make sense of its whispers, and in the silence that followed, a discordant note reverberated through their union until that harmony was shattered. 

They lacked the presence of mind to discern whose voice it was at that time, but now, they wondered if it was not Zodiark who they'd heard through their bond with Emet-Selch. What did it mean for a Primal's voice to fall quiet? It was a question better asked of someone like Y'shtola or Krile… but without their wisdom at hand, the Warrior of Light could only speculate. 

"What next?" Ardbert asked, interrupting their thoughts. He nodded towards the entrance to the Bureau, where Emet-Selch still waited outside. 

"I'm not sure," they replied, following his gaze. Once they passed through that door, they would have to face Emet-Selch and all his expectations once more. They felt suffocated by the thought. 

Ardbert crossed his arms. His mannerisms were so much like their own when something troubled him.

"Thank you. For earlier," he said abruptly. Seeing their confusion, he exhaled and looked away before continuing. "I said something stupid. It's been a long time since I've had a friend like you to remind me that it's ok to be a little selfish sometimes. I'm really glad we met..." 

They didn't mean to laugh at his gratitude, but a snort escaped them before they could even think to suppress it. Ardbert looked at them in surprise, embarrassment coloring his pale face.

"Is it really so funny for me to say that?" he asked defensively.

"We tried to kill each other when we first met," they replied. 

Ardbert's flush deepened. After a moment, he cracked a rueful smile and chuckled to himself.

"That we did. And here we are, laughing about it like a pair of fools… I didn't think I'd ever have a reason to laugh again. It's thanks to you that I can." 

"Ardbert..." 

They expected the connection when they reached out to place a hand on his shoulder this time, but it felt gentler than before, like the warmth of a tended hearth instead of a levinbolt setting their soul ablaze. 

"The First has been saved, but this is not the end of your journey or the danger our worlds still face," Ardbert murmured.

"I know. As soon as I leave this place, it will begin again."

"What will you fight for then?"

The look they gave him was answer enough. Ardbert's expression eased.

"Gods know I sympathize with Emet-Selch's loss. It's hard not to mourn with him after walking through his memories, but it doesn't change how I feel about my world." 

"Nor has it weakened my convictions. The future of both our worlds is worth fighting for, and I'll do my best to protect it," they assured him.

“What, all by yourself?” 

Ardbert smiled. Truly smiled, no longer burdened by worry or doubt, and the light of his hope warmed them like sunlight after a storm. They wanted to protect this too– his hope. Gods knew he deserved to find it in himself to hope after wandering lost in despair for a hundred years, but if they understood his words correctly… 

Their disapproval must have shown on their face, for Ardbert’s expression sobered. He raised a hand to their shoulder so that they stood in mirrored solidarity, each consoling the other. 

“Give me a little credit. I’ve been thinking about what it would mean for me to move on. You know, assuming I could find a way to rejoin the Lifestream, my reincarnation won’t remember this life. I won’t be Ardbert anymore. If I have to forget myself one way or another, I would rather take that next step with you. I want to protect the future of our worlds as well, so if you’ll have me… I’d like to see this journey to its end. Together."

The Warrior of Light closed their eyes for a moment. When they opened them again, they nodded.

If that was his wish, how could they deny him? Yet they could not help but think of Minfilia and Ryne. How, after she’d bequeathed her power to the younger girl, all trace of her had ceased to exist. They didn’t want that for Ardbert. They didn’t want his memories to fade into oblivion.

“Together, then,” they agreed. And in that moment, they were resolved: they would not let him be forgotten.

Ardbert’s eyes crinkled as he gave their shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“Stand tall, my friend.”

When they slew the Wardens and absorbed their aether, their soul became a vessel for that Light, and though it threatened to consume them when they could no longer contain it, it was never a part of them. There was no sense of union, no melding of power. The Light was a bloated parasite that fed only itself. 

Ardbert's aether swept into them like a zephyr wind, bearing the warmth of spring and the promise of sunshine after a long, dark winter. The sense of him wrapped around them, and they reached out to embrace him, to welcome him back like an old, dear friend they'd always known. When they took a steadying breath, they breathed him in, breathed _with_ him. Their soul felt lighter, brimming with a radiance wholly different from the fulgent aether they’d harbored before. It was a light that nourished instead of consuming, that guided instead of blinding.

It was their own light. Theirs and Ardbert’s and every life they'd walked before. It was a light that would persist long beyond this chapter of their story, for the end of one journey was just the beginning of another. 

Two souls entered the Bureau of the Architect. One soul departed. But the Warrior of Light did not walk alone, for they would never truly walk alone again. 

They found Emet-Selch reclined on a bench outside the Bureau. He seemed to be asleep at first glance, but as they approached, they saw him crack open one eye. That eye soon widened, its twin flying open as he scrambled upright with all the haste and dignity of a startled cat. 

"Your soul is- How did you manage to…?" he stammered before his shock gave way to skepticism. Emet-Selch scowled and looked away, muttering, "No... 'tis surely a trick of the light…"

"Hythlodaeus sends his regards," they said, earning another startled glance. 

This time, Emet-Selch couldn't bring himself to look away. He took the full measure of their soul, appraising them as carefully as a master goldsmith would grade a batch of raw ore. A flicker of hope sparked in the depths of his eyes as he stood and approached them. 

"Your soul is unmistakably denser, yet no shard was Rejoined. Did meeting him… did it trigger some recollection?" 

"No," they replied, severing that thread before he could spin it into a greater disappointment. "But meeting him helped clarify a few things for me. The Fourteenth member who defected… that was me, wasn't it?" 

"Not you," Emet-Selch corrected, face darkening. "Azem."

Azem. The title settled over their shoulders like a well-worn cloak. It didn't fit them perfectly, but neither did this relic of their past stifle their present. Instead, it was comforting. Azem. They mouthed their old title silently and smiled as a fleeting memory stirred. 

The Fourteenth seat was the seat of freedom, for in this life and every life before, they had always been a traveler. 

"You're right. I'm not Azem, but I don't think they'd be ashamed of the people they became. Hythlodaeus called me his new old friend before we parted. Won't you give me a chance to befriend you as well?" 

Emet-Selch's anger wavered.

How he missed Azem. Every line of his body mourned their absence, slumped beneath the weight of all the memories he carried for them. It pulled him down, shackling him to a life that was no longer his own. It wasn't something any part of them would have ever wanted for him. They knew their company was cold comfort. They were not Azem and never would be. But Emet-Selch had lived a thousand, thousand mortal lives. What was one more? 

"You called yourself my companion once. Come travel with me, Emet-Selch. See the world as I do."

They held out their hand, palm raised in supplication as they invited him to join them. Emet-Selch had done the same back in Eulmore. His eyes lingered on their outstretched hand for a long time, but even when their arm began to ache, they did not lower it. At last, a weary sigh brought an end to the stalemate. 

He'd shed his gloves at some unknown point. Emet-Selch's bare hand was broad, warm, and soft. His elegant fingers caught on their calloused skin, but he did not seem to mind the rough texture.

Emet-Selch looked down at their intertwined hands as he began to speak. 

"We had our duties... Mine kept me in Amaurot while theirs took them across the star. It feels like I’ve spent my whole life waiting for Azem to return. I wished more than once that they would spirit me away from my stuffy office on one of their grand adventures, but between the two of us, I had to keep the sober head… It was the best way I knew how to protect them from their recklessness. But I should have gone with them. Just once, I should have followed instead of waiting…” 

Emet-Selch’s lips curled into a bitter smile, but his bitterness was directed inward, not at them. The hand holding theirs remained gentle, almost reverent. When he raised his eyes to meet theirs again, only resignation remained. 

“I never could say no to you,” he murmured wistfully. 

They placed their other hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze.

“You should learn to set boundaries,” they advised. 

Emet-Selch quirked an eyebrow.

“What, because you’re so good at that yourself?”

“Do as I say, not as I do. Boundaries are a work in progress, ok?”

“From what I can tell, you haven’t _made_ much progress. You still run yourself ragged for others, then and now. Would it kill you to rest a little more?”

They almost replied _I’ll sleep when I die_ , but given how close they’d come to it, they thought it might be in poor taste. Besides, he had a point. Even Ardbert had admonished them for it.

_I was also pretty bad about taking breaks when I was still alive, but you've got to take better care of yourself._

“I’ll try,” they promised both men.

“As will I. One last encore, hero. Make it count ere your curtain falls.” 

Ever the thespian, Emet-Selch. Letting go of his hand, they swept him the kind of exaggerated bow he’d offered them at their first meeting.

“Oh, thank you ser… I’m honored that you would condescend to share a stage with me.”

When they raised their head to look at him, his bitter expression had eased into something more playful. For a moment, the weight of tomorrow seemed to lift from his shoulders.

“Your acting is terrible. I’ll have to give you some lessons before I _condescend_ to share a stage with you, as you so eloquently put it.”

His sense of humor was cutting, but they could tell that he spoke without the intent to wound. There was no real bite to his words. 

The Warrior of Light laughed. They did not know if this levity would last. Perhaps it was only a brief respite before the spectre of Amaurot called him back to his post, but until that time, they would hold onto hope that Emet-Selch could learn to live again. 

"I don't think I'll have any talent for it, but I'll do my best to learn," they replied. 

Emet-Selch shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. 

"I'm sure you'll manage to surprise me." 

"It will be less conspicuous if I just teleport back to the Crystarium aetheryte plaza by myself."

"Less conspicuous? How is that less conspicuous? Everyone and their amaro will see you return."

"You kind of kidnapped me while I was unconscious. The Scions will misunderstand if I suddenly pop out of an aetherial rift with you in tow!"

"You have a mouth, yes? Use it." 

In the end, they let Emet-Selch loop his arm through theirs and pull them into the rift between worlds as though they were embarking upon a leisurely afternoon stroll. It was a compromise. He wanted to stay with them in Amaurot another day, they wanted to reassure their companions that they were alive and well. If this concession was what it took to get back sooner, they would indulge Emet-Selch's penchant for dramatic entrances. 

The Crystal Exarch and the other Scions were gathered in the Ocular for a meeting when they arrived. Emet-Selch strode in with his head held high and the smuggest expression they'd seen on anyone's face. 

The Warrior of Light raised their hand and offered their comrades an awkward wave.

"I'm back," they said. 

"You're ok!" Ryne cried, a hand fluttering up to her chest as she took an unsteady step towards them. 

Ryne and Alisaie both looked fit to burst into tears, though Alisaie's relief at seeing them well was quickly redirected into outrage at the person by their side. Furious, she drew her rapier and pointed it at Emet-Selch.

"You! Let them go now!" 

Emet-Selch removed his arm from theirs and wrapped it around their shoulders instead.

"You couldn't make me then and you cannot make me now," he replied. 

"Don't antagonize my friends," they scolded, elbowing his ribs.

"Alisaie, wait. Our friend doesn't seem to be in distress," Alphinaud observed. He held his sister back as he gave Emet-Selch a guarded look. "What business do you have with us?" 

"He was just dropping me off," the Warrior of Light explained. Emet-Selch glanced down at them, looking amused. 

"Am I merely transportation now? Oh Warrior, you wound me…" 

"Right. Well, seeing how you were on death's doorstep when he spirited you away, I think we're owed an explanation as to why he's kindly returned you in one piece," Thancred remarked, crossing his arms. 

"Agreed. We were in the midst of planning your rescue," Y'shtola said.

"A most difficult endeavor given the location of thine captor's abode. While thou mayest breathe water as readily as air, we share not thy blessing…" Urianger added. 

"We just managed to come up with something of a solution… until fortune saw fit to deliver you back to us. It was never our intent to abandon you to your fate, my friend. I only regret that we failed you in your hour of need…" 

G’raha Tia leaned on his staff as he met their eyes with an expression that was equal measures pained and relieved. He no longer maintained the pretense of his identity within the Ocular. With his hood lowered, they could make out every twitch of his ears. They betrayed just how conflicted he felt, rising and flattening subconsciously as he beseeched their forgiveness without daring to ask for it.

Emet-Selch snorted at his addition.

"Fortune? _I_ saw fit to deliver them."

" _You_ took them from us in the first place! Don't think I'll forget how you called them a consolation prize!" Alisaie threatened.

The Warrior of Light tilted their head to look up at him.

"Did you really call me that?" 

Emet-Selch looked away, shrugging one of his shoulders. 

"Sometimes we say things in the heat of the moment," he replied airily. 

They elbowed him again before turning back to their friends. 

What a mess. 

There was no easy way to explain Emet-Selch's apparent change of heart. Without seeing what they'd seen, it defied reason. The Warrior of Light cleared their throat. His arm was still wrapped casually around their shoulders, but they knew from experience that if they tried to shrug him off, it would turn into more of a spectacle, so they let it be.

"Emet-Selch helped me disperse the Light after he took me away. I've been recovering since then."

"To what end did he offer this assistance? And how exactly did he help you _disperse_ it?" Y'shtola asked.

"Their aetheric polarity was skewed towards Light. I simply corrected the imbalance. As for why, it does not concern you," Emet-Selch replied. 

Thancred uncrossed his arms, his eyebrows rising steeply.

"Matron's tits… don't tell me you two-"

"Thancred," Y'shtola interrupted. "Mind what you say in our present company." 

His eyes flickered briefly over to Ryne, Alisaie, and Alphinaud before he shut his mouth, but the look he gave the Warrior of Light spoke volumes. 

Oh. Gods.

"It's not what you're thinking," they snapped as their face flushed red. Except… what they'd actually done with Emet-Selch was even more intimate in a way… 

Thancred could never know.

"Consider this my final show of good faith," Emet-Selch remarked, looking bored. "It has become apparent that my judgment was rendered with undue haste. As such, I will lend you my knowledge and strength once more in the spirit of cooperation." 

"That's all well and good, but you did shoot one of our companions," Alphinaud pointed out. "Forgive us if we find it difficult to trust in your intentions." 

Emet-Selch favored him with a patronizing look.

"Had I shot with the intent to kill, your friend would be dead. He holds more value to me alive, however, and so he remains. Still, you recovered quickly, Exarch." 

"I could ill afford to remain abed with the Warrior of Light in Ascian hands," G'raha Tia replied, eyes darkening. 

"How noble of you, making such sacrifices on their behalf. Ah, but speaking of sacrifice, I wonder whose solution they preferred? Yours or mine?"

G'raha flinched at his words, his face clouding with guilt as he stared down at the floor. His ears lay flat against his skull.

The Warrior of Light sighed and ducked out from beneath Emet-Selch's arm. 

"Enough. These are my friends, and while I'm not happy they betrayed my trust, they meant well."

Emet-Selch's lips thinned with displeasure as they stepped away from him, but what they had to say next was best delivered without the appearance of taking sides.

"G'raha… it's good to see you. I lived, so you have to promise me that you will do the same. Don't let this happen again.

Urianger, if you go behind my back for the greater good a _third_ time, I will stop talking to you. 

Y'shtola, I overheard your conversation with Urianger in Slitherbough... You eventually came clean about what was happening to me, but it hurt that you didn't tell me until _after_ I slew a third Lightwarden. 

Do you know how it feels to have the people you trust withhold the truth from you? Emet-Selch was more honest with me than you three. Though we serve different causes, he was there for me when I needed him and I count him as one of my companions. So please. If you want to make amends, trust me _now_." 

It was difficult to be open about the things that caused them pain, but if they were asking for trust, they had to give it in turn. How else would they practice setting boundaries? 

Well. Actually, Emet-Selch would give them plenty of chances to practice just by dint of his personality. He was smirking again as he crossed his arms and surveyed the gallery of faces staring back at him.

"You heard the Warrior of Light. Make your peace with my presence, dear comrades." 

"Like hells I will," Alisaie muttered.

"Yes, might those of us who did not incur your ire lodge a formal objection?" Thancred asked.

The Warrior of Light shot him a dirty look.

"Joking…" he said with an exaggerated shrug. 

He was not. Or at least, not entirely. But Thancred had more reason than most not to like having an Ascian around. 

A few beats of silence followed as the Scions considered their responses. It was Alphinaud who spoke up first. 

"You have ever been my most stalwart friend. I will trust in your judgment as I have trusted in your strength so many times before." 

His words diffused a measure of tension within the Ocular. The Warrior of Light smiled warmly at him, receiving a bashful smile in return.

Beside him, Alisaie sighed and sheathed her rapier. 

"My brother is right. I may not trust _him_ , but I do trust you. We have your back."

Before they could even acknowledge Alisaie's support, Ryne rushed forward and threw her arms around them. She buried her face in their clothes to hide the tears she could no longer hold back.

"I'm sorry… I wasn't strong enough to help you more, but I'm glad Emet-Selch was," she mumbled. 

As they stroked the back of her head and tried to think of what they could say to soothe her, Emet-Selch clicked his tongue dismissively. 

"It was never within your power. Don't blame yourself for failing to accomplish something beyond your means."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to console her," Thancred remarked. 

“In the most condescending way possible,” Alisaie added, resting a hand on her hip. “Which I suppose _is_ par for the course.”

Ryne wiped her cheeks as she let go of them and turned to smile faintly at Emet-Selch.

“Thank you for returning them. I haven’t known them nearly as long as the others, but I can’t imagine a world in which they don’t exist. I hope… I hope that we can become better friends as well.”

Emet-Selch raised an eyebrow at her words.

“The Oracle of Light wishes to befriend an Ascian? T’would be a first. Ah, but how it would gall your Mother to know that Her mouthpiece speaks of sedition… Yes, I do rather like the idea.”

“I still don’t buy your change of heart, but since it seems we’re going forward with this, know that I will be keeping an eye on you,” Thancred said.

“As will we all,” continued Y'shtola, finally finding her voice. She inclined her head towards the Warrior of Light, looking contrite. “It was not right of me to keep the truth from you for as long as I did. I didn't think it wise to voice my concerns before I was certain, but in retrospect, I realize that I should have broached the topic ere you slew Lightwarden Eros. I will endeavor to be more transparent with such matters in the future.” 

The Warrior of Light nodded to indicate that they accepted her apology before looking towards Urianger and G’raha Tia. Their silence was deafening, Urianger’s in particular given how long they’d been companions. His gaze slid away like oil on water when they tried to catch it.

“Urianger,” they prompted.

His eyelashes trembled as he stared down at the Ocular’s floor, but he finally began to speak.

"Words cannot convey how deeply I regret the deception. Thou art a miracle worker, my friend, yet when I peered into the future the Exarch sought to prevent and saw you fall, my faith was shaken. Thus did I commit myself to the Exarch's plan, seeing no better path forward and knowing thy nature would not allow thee to permit another to die in thy stead. Yet if by Althyk's grace the hands of time were reversed and the choice placed before me a second time, I cannot say that I would choose differently and risk the ripples of mine actions leading to a darker outcome." 

Words could not convey his regret because after an entire speech justifying his actions, he never actually managed to apologize. 

Oh, to be sure, they understood his reasoning. Emet-Selch had saved them on a whim. Perhaps he always would have saved them because of who they'd once been to him. They had no way of knowing that, but if there was an alternate future in which Emet-Selch stood aside and watched them fall, it was irrelevant to the choices their friends had made. They still bore responsibility for those decisions. 

"With a friend like him, who needs enemies? I don't need to be a prophet to predict this won't be the last time he lies to you for the greater good," Emet-Selch remarked, echoing their thoughts. 

The Warrior of Light suppressed a smile. 

"He was honest this time," they pointed out.

"And you'll forgive him just for that? My dear, you really ought to learn how to hold a grudge." 

"When did I forgive him? I said I'd stop talking to him if he did it again. Also, I'm great at holding grudges." 

"That's not really something you should aspire to be good at…" Alphinaud murmured, too softly for anyone but Alisaie to make out. 

"Well I think spite is an excellent motivator," she replied, eyeing Emet-Selch meaningfully. "It seems I'll have my work cut out for me trying to keep up with him too…" 

"If I may?" G'raha interrupted. His expression was better than Urianger's, who looked like he'd swallowed something rancid but was too ashamed to spit it back up in polite company. 

The Warrior of Light paused their friendly argument with Emet-Selch to nod at him. He offered them a wan smile before continuing.

"I came to this world bearing the hopes and dreams of those who survived the Eighth Umbral Calamity. In the waning years that followed, they looked to the stories of your deeds for inspiration– a guiding light amid desperate times. 

I took an oath to safeguard that light, to unwrite the tragedy of your demise that our star might know a brighter future. There was nothing I would not give to carry out my duty, for how could my life compare to your legacy? It was enough, I thought, to be a chapter in your story… but in my effort to be selfless, I was selfish. I've hurt you, the person I never wanted to see come to harm… For what little it's worth, I am sorry." 

"G'raha."

They called his name gently this time. His ears flicked nervously as he waited for their judgment. 

"It's worth a lot. I'm glad to have you back."

Forgiveness wasn't something G'raha Tia expected to receive, but it was everything he longed for. Hope bloomed in his eyes, spilling over as countless tears that scattered like sunlight through a prism when he smiled. 

"Thank you," he said. 

He looked like he wanted to say more, but as he returned to his senses, he remembered that his words had an audience. G'raha Tia flushed as red as his hair.

"So if we're done with all the sentimental declarations, might we move on to more pressing matters?" Emet-Selch inquired offhandedly, "Because I must say, you Scions don't exactly have the luxury of time." 

_In case you weren't aware, the bond betwixt living body and soul cannot endure a lengthy separation. Your aether already shows abnormalities. I'm surprised you haven't noticed._

_Hmm? Why yes, I could easily return your souls to the Source, but that would be rather anticlimactic, don't you agree? Show me what solution you can conjure with your mortal ingenuity._

_What am I contributing to our merry band? Hmph. I am dissuading my peers from meddling in your affairs for the time being. You're welcome._

The life of a hero was one of perpetual motion. As soon as one crisis was resolved, several others would appear, often overlapping. They were accustomed to fighting battles, both literal and figurative, on multiple fronts. It was their natural state. 

Napping seemed to be Emet-Selch's natural state. While they toiled to find a way to return the other Scions to the Source, Emet-Selch wandered in and out of their company at his leisure. They did not ask where he went, and he did not volunteer that information, but more than once, they returned to their suite in the Pendants to find him asleep on their bed.

Most times, they sat down at the dining table with a book and some fruit while they waited for him to wake up, but their exhaustion was too great to ignore on this occasion. Stifling a yawn, they set down their bags and shucked off their shoes before walking over to the bed.

"Move over," they ordered. "I want to lie down." 

Emet-Selch opened one eye to look up at them. There was a strangely luminous quality to his irises that only became apparent in dimmer environs. With the shutters drawn, the stove’s brazier was the only source of light in the room. Its gentle illumination warmed his pale skin and softened the sharp angles of his face, making him seem more approachable.

Emet-Selch opened his other eye and winked. With a jolt, they realized he’d caught them staring. Gods they were tired… Crossing their arms, the Warrior of Light gave him a stern look.

“If you don’t move, I’ll make you leave. I’ve no intention of staying on my feet a moment longer.”

“Busy day, hero?” Emet-Selch asked, shifting to make room for them. His lips hooked into a smile as they lay down next to him with a quiet groan.

“I succeeded in bringing Beq Lugg back to the Crystarium, but they made me work for it. I’ve never felt anything like the fire their construct wielded, and this is coming from someone who has fought Ifrit numerous times. His hellfire tickles in comparison.”

“Such a small thing has you so hard pressed?”

“It’s the culmination of a long week. The First is recovering, but things are a mess back on the Source with Garlemald's war of succession in full swing. As the only person who can travel between worlds, I’m picking up a lot of slack.”

“You aren’t the only one who can,” Emet-Selch reminded them.

They gave him a look that could curdle milk.

“Fine. The only one willing to do it." 

He shrugged. 

"I told you before that, be it for a year or a millennium, I prefer to retain the same form until my duty is done. However, this face is well known on the Source. Would you have me fashion myself a new vessel to accompany you there?"

Hearing him speak of possession so casually never failed to chill them. It was something they tried not to think about too much for the sake of maintaining their current relationship, but it was a good reminder that, even if they'd warmed up to Emet-Selch a great deal, they could not afford to be complacent in his company. Subconsciously, they moved away from him. 

"That's not necessary. I just forgot that it would pose a problem." 

Their sudden discomfort did not escape his notice. As their mood shifted, so did Emet-Selch's expression and tone of voice. Both took on a sardonic edge. 

"Such is my nature as an Ascian. But lest you fret over moral quandaries, my grandson took the liberty of cloning my old body in secret, so rest assured that my next vessel is as ethically sourced as they come."

… Ethically sourced.

All thoughts of Ascian moral relativism fled their mind. They didn't even know where to begin. 

"How-" they choked out as their mind started and stalled repeatedly, "How is that- Varis cloned you? He just. And you- _Ethically sourced_?" 

Emet-Selch's expression eased as they clamped a hand over their mouth to stifle a hysterical howl. It was just too ridiculous. Whether he'd meant to make them laugh or not, they were laughing now.

"You should have seen the look on his face when I turned up in person to thank him. For some reason, he wasn't thrilled," Emet remarked, earning another spate of muffled laughter.

"No wonder he lost his mind at the parley… I almost feel sorry for him," they said as soon as they managed to catch their breath for two seconds. 

"Don't waste your sympathy on the ungrateful," he advised. "In any case, the matter of my next form does bear considering… Any requests? Features that strike your fancy? I can make myself look however you want, so do tell…" 

His offer caught them off guard. Suddenly, they were all too conscious of his proximity.

Though his tone was playful, they knew it wasn’t an offer he made lightly. They doubted it was an offer he would make to anyone else. It was proof of his sincerity, that he truly intended to put his machinations on hold and assume a new identity of their choosing so he could remain at their side until such a time as their futures diverged or aligned. It was more of a concession than they’d expected.

He wanted more from them than they could yet give. The casual intimacy they’d begun to build with him was too delicate to bear the nostalgia of millennia, and they had no desire to play substitute for his longing, but nor could they deny how the memories they’d shared with him of their past still colored their present. 

The Warrior of Light closed their eyes and took a steadying breath. When they opened them again, they no longer felt as flustered.

“If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to see your true form… or as close to it as you can get, mortal limitations being what they are.” 

Emet-Selch froze.

… A wicked impulse stirred in their breast as they watched his composure slip. It was rather enjoyable seeing him falter and knowing that they were the cause, that his self-control was as imperfect as theirs. That, even if he was powerful, he was fallible too. 

Everyone had a weakness. 

The Warrior of Light smiled, and Emet-Selch melted.

“I’ll never hear the end of this from Elidibus,” he sighed.

“I didn’t realize he had a say in how you look.”

“He doesn’t. But then as now, we are not inclined to reveal our true faces so freely. It elevates the individual above the collective. Yet here you are, asking me to remove my mask… a most audacious request, and one I really should deny on principle.”

And yet, he did not. He lay across from them in the dark, shirking duty for a moment of indulgence. Choosing an individual instead of the collective.

Everyone had a weakness.

“I thought you were an honest man, Emet-Selch,” they teased.

His lips compressed into a sullen pout. It was the last thing they saw before he covered their eyes with one of his hands. His aether rolled over them as a dark tide, its current eddying where it met and mingled with their own. The blankets rustled as he shifted beneath them.

“I thought I told you to use my name when we’re alone,” they heard him murmur before he removed his hand.

Bereft of his mortal disguise, he looked almost vulnerable. His hair was much longer than before. It spilled across their sheets like moonlight through an open blind. They curled their fingers through an errant strand as they catalogued the changes, but for all the differences they noted, his true face was more familiar than strange. 

Though the lashes that framed them were pale instead of dark, his eyes were exactly the same. He watched them with an expectant gaze that they knew well.

It was enough to settle their lingering doubts. They would not be complacent in his company, but neither would they succumb to fear. 

“Hades…” 

His body tensed as they called his name.

Hope was a funny thing– both a comfort and a burden. They saw how it weighed on him as he dared to entertain it, searching their face for permission. They saw how it buoyed him when he found what he sought.

Hades yielded to his hope, drawing them into his arms and burying his face in the crook of their neck. He said nothing as he held them, silent for once as he basked in the moment. It was enough to remain like this.

All moments passed. They could not say what tomorrow would bring, or the day after, only that it would come as surely as dawn followed dusk. But, like Hades, they chose to hope.

The Warrior of Light tilted their head so that it rested against his.

“Don’t get too comfortable where you’re at. I may not mind sharing my bed, but I _do_ intend to sleep tonight," they warned.

“Why is it suddenly imperative that you fix your wretched sleeping habits?” Hades grumbled against their neck.

“Because you’re the one who admonished me about not setting boundaries. What was it you said? ‘Would it kill you to rest a little more?’”

“You’re killing _me_ ,” he said as he pulled away from them with a plaintive expression. He was reluctant to let go of them entirely, letting one of his hands linger on their hip while his thumb rubbed teasing circles into their skin.

They peeled away his hand without mercy.

Hades squeezed their fingers.

"For a hero, you are remarkably cruel," he lamented. 

They raised his hand to their lips and pressed a kiss against his knuckles, smiling as his fingers stiffened and his eyebrows rose. Perhaps they were a _little_ cruel for relishing the way he froze when they managed to genuinely shock him, but they rather suspected he enjoyed it himself. It was something they were willing to explore more… another time. 

"Good night, Hades," they replied, releasing his hand and closing their eyes as they burrowed under their blanket.

Hades sighed, but it was not a sigh of resignation. With a snap of his fingers, a second, softer blanket settled over them both. The pillow beneath their head grew comfortably cool, as if they'd flipped it.

"I don't intend to let you off so easily, my dear. We'll have words in the morning." 

"Tomorrow," they agreed, stifling a yawn as their awareness began to drift. They couldn't remember the last time they'd fallen asleep so quickly… 

Hades watched them for a while longer, sleep wholly beyond his grasp in their company. It was only when he was certain that they would not rouse from slumber if he stirred that he opened his hand to gaze down at the object nestled in his palm. 

The small, amber gem containing Azem's memories was unspeakably precious, and it should not have existed. He ran his thumb across the glyph of their office wistfully. Just like the sun, they had always drawn others into their orbit. Stars followed in the wake of their radiance, bound by a gravity they could not hope to deny. Even their diminished light still compelled him. 

It was possible to raise up their soul in this way, but even as Hades entertained the thought, he knew he would not follow through. Zodiark’s summoners made the truest servants, and Azem served no god. Remembering this way was not what they would have wanted.

Hades closed his fingers around the gem once more, concealing its faint glow. It was enough if he remembered that they once lived. 

"You always make me wait," he murmured. His complaint fell on deaf ears, but he would have it no other way, for they were quick to tease of late. A vexing development, though not entirely unpleasant… 

"Tomorrow and tomorrow… let us see what they may bring," Hades said, and closed his eyes at last.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the first story I've written for FFXIV, but it's the first one I've posted. Hopefully not the last one. 
> 
> I spent so much time thinking about all the things I wanted to say here, but I'll try to keep it brief. This story isn't an expression of my dissatisfaction with how Shadowbringers ended. It's been a year and a half since 5.0 dropped and its conclusion remains just as impactful today as it was for me then. I wanted to linger with that story longer and dig into the vulnerable side of the WoL that we saw hints of as they grappled with duty and doubt during scenes of private reflection.
> 
> I also wanted to explore how Emet-Selch might respond to being invited into those private moments, something he seemed to want but never got in the main story as the WoL did not go to Amaurot alone. I wondered if it was enough to nudge him down a different path. And it wasn’t what I originally set out to do when I started this story, but I decided to try writing that alternate future while remaining as faithful as possible to his character. 
> 
> You'll have to be the judge of whether this story strikes that balance for you. By necessity, it leaves a lot of threads unresolved. What comes next is open-ended. Make of it what you will, and thank you for sharing the journey with me!


End file.
